Life Of Lies
by letmefallasleep
Summary: Shawn Spencer's life is all lies. "I don't even know who I really am, and how much of it is a lie that I designed to hide a lie that I thought up to cover another lie to... Well, you get the idea." Warning: Severe Sexual Abuse of a Child
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Ok, firstly this story will be seriously depressing, angsty, and may even involve character death, but I'm not sure yet. It deals with graphic sexual abuse of a child, so if that bothers you, please hit the back button or the little red 'x' on your browser. If I get any reviews on this that people like it, I'll continue, otherwise I'll take it down, and start over again. But anyways, thanks for reading.

* * *

My name is Shawn Spencer. I have a photographic memory, which allows me to pass myself off as a psychic to the Santa Barbara Police Department.

Really, that's all my life is when I think about it. It's all one big lie. Everything about me -who I am, my whole life, all of it -is just one big lie stacked on top of another. I don't even know who I really am, and how much of it is a lie that I designed to hide a lie that I thought up to cover another lie to...

Well, you get the idea.

I wasn't always this way though.

* * *

I talk a lot. Well, I never really stop talking, to be perfectly honest. Just about everyone who's ever met me agrees: they all want me to shut up.

I didn't always talk non-stop.

It actually started when I was twelve. That was when I realized that if I was talking, I wasn't thinking. That my brain could only focus on what I was trying to say, rather than assail me with crystal clear, full length, unedited, HD quality home movies of memories I never wanted in the first place.

_Lie #1: The great Shawn Spencer loves to talk._

That this point, if I stop talking, or even think about not talking, my brain kicks into overdrive, and starts spouting random facts. Which tends to make people think I'm insane, but I guess it's better than the alternative, huh?

_Lie #2: It's impossible to give yourself A.D.D._

I wasn't always the overactive, jabbering, easily distracted guy everyone knows and loves. And not just because everyone doesn't love me.

When I was a kid, I could focus on anything for hours, never losing my concentration. But shortly after my thirteenth birthday, I realized that if I kept my thought process moving, let any little thing distract me, I never had to think about anything before something else would distract me. Now, even when I try to focus, I can't stop myself from getting distracted.

_Lie #3: People who act happy, are happy._

It started out as something to distract everyone. Tell a few jokes, make everybody laugh, and all of the sudden, everybody things you've got it all together, and your life is perfect.

Yeah at first people questioned why I went from depressed zombie to class clown. But after a while, they forgot about Zombie Shawn, and only seen Clown Shawn.

_Lie #4: Photographic memory is a gift._

My mind has always been my worst enemy.

I was raped two hundred and thirty seven times from the time I was nine 'til I was thirteen.

And I remember every little detail.

I remember the exact number of tiles (five hundred and forty-eight) in the elementary school showers where I was raped.

I remember e very last detail of the clothes I was wearing, and the knife my gym teacher used to threaten me.

I remember every mole, scar, and hair on Mr. Beneviste's body.

I remember the exact size, shape, and other details of his genitalia, right down to the small scar on his penis from where he had a mole removed.

So you tell me: photographic memory, gift or curse?

It started my fifth grade year. Since second grade, I'd heard the older boys say to stay away from him. That something was way off about the guy.

But Jonathon Beneviste was my gym teacher. So while I might have been able to avoid him four days a week, I had gym class every Thursday for two and a half hours.

The third week of my fifth grade grade year -October first – was when he caught me alone in the showers for the first time.

_Five hundred and forty-eight tiles_

_Eleven bars of soap._

_Twenty three dirty towels, not counting mine._

_Thirty four light bulbs. Seven of those blown._

_Six drains._

_Twelve shower heads._

_One backpack, a pair of sneaks, four socks and seven pencils left behind._

_It started at three oh four and twenty-two seconds._

_It finally stopped at three twenty-nine and thirty-six seconds._

It seemed a hell of a lot longer.

Every Thursday until summer vacation, except for twice when I got out pretending to be sick, and once when he was outta town for the week.

After fifth grade graduation, I thought I was safe. Thought I'd never have to see him again, and I could move on with my life.

Imagine my surprise when I walk into the middle school gymnasium for sixth grade orientation, and see him standing there, chatting with the other new teachers. He'd been transferred to the middle school, and the torture continued for another three years.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update this, I've been busy with my other stories. Warnings for this chapter: graphic sexual abuse of a minor, language.

* * *

The first few weeks of middle school, I just avoided the locker rooms at all costs. I didn't give him a chance to catch me alone. At that point, I didn't care if I failed gym because I didn't change down, or if people didn't want to sit by me 'cause I reeked of sweat from not showering. All better than the alternative, right?

Wrong.

Week four of school, Monday, October sixth. I was in social studies, struggling to keep my mind focused on the Ming Dynasty of China, and why the hell they built half a wall to keep people out, when the teacher, Ms. Euless, answered her phone.

She listened for a few moments, before nodding to herself, and saying, "Fine, but I don't want this to become a habit. He can't miss one class to make up for another. Does him no good if he still ends up failing a class."

Even though I knew the call was for me, I tried to tell myself it wasn't. That the call must have been for another kid; hell, there was enough trouble-makers in my class. I couldn't be the only one already failing a class, right?

Wrong.

Ms. Euless walked up to me, and quietly told me that I had to report to the gym, and that she knew I was a good kid, and I wouldn't want to fail, would I?

I couldn't even speak as I gathered up my stuff, shoving it into my backpack, and heading for the door, mind racing to come up with a way out of the situation.

Finally, it occurred to me: just skip. There was only one more period. I could hide out until the bell rang, and slip out one of the side doors in the mass of students changing classes. Not that hard, right?

Wrong.

I wasn't even ten feet from Ms. Euless's classroom, when I heard him behind me.

"You wouldn't be skipping out on me now, would you, Shawn?" He asked in that cocky, arrogant way he talked. Like he owned the world, and could do whatever he wanted.

Guess he wasn't wrong, huh?

He lead me to his office, past the gymnasium, at the back of the locker rooms, explaining as he went that since I was already failing gym, he'd arranged with the principal to give me 'private classes' so I wouldn't fail. Once a week, I'd have to go to the gym, alone. With him.

When we got into his office, he shut the door, locking it behind him, before leaning against it, eyes watching me like a lion.

He very casually explained to me that since I had been a bad boy, and skipped out on our 'fun time' as he called it, I needed to be punished. Then he explained that, since as long as I was failing P.E., I would be required to spend a whole period –fifty two minutes –with him, once a week, on top of my normal gym class. Meaning that I could suffer for ten minutes twice a week, or for fifty two minutes once a week.

I couldn't open my mouth to say anything.

He ruffled my hair roughly as he asked if I understood that fifty two once was more than ten twice.

I nodded slowly, tears streaming down my face, as he unzipped his pants, and forced me to my knees.

_Seventeen pencils in the #1 Gym teacher cup on his desk._

_Four sticky notes._

_Twenty two dust balls._

_An extra pair of sneakers._

_The grading book, open to page three, with fourteen names, including mine_

_Thirteen trophies._

_Two pictures._

_In, and out of my mouth thirty eight times._

I gagged, choking as he shoved me backwards, his semen stuck halfway down my throat.

"That was just the beginning, Shawnie," He said, as if it were the most normal conversation in the world. "I'm gonna fuck you up royally this time. You're gonna be in so much fucking pain, you won't be able to walk straight. Do you know why?" When I didn't answer, he stood over me, arm raised as if to hit me.

I shook my head, feeling my shirt and jeans grow wet with the torrent of tears running down my face, as I told him, no sir, I didn't know why.

He smiled. But he didn't tell me then. He got me undressed, threw me face down on his desk, and tore into me.

Twenty minutes and nineteen seconds later, he finally told me. And I'll never forget what he said.

"Because you don't get to decide whether or not we have 'fun time'. _I_ decide. And every time you make me miss out on our special fun, I'm gonna put you in so much pain, you won't be able to bear it."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry an update took me so long, but this story is getting me the least responses or reviews, so I'm trying to get my other ones done first. Also, this story if almost two years old, so not a whole lot of inspiration going on. But I am trying!

* * *

Twenty-three year old Shawn Spencer jerked awake, a scream still caught half-way in his throat. Panting heavily, he glanced over the clock.

2:19.

Damn.

There was no way in hell he'd be be able to go to sleep again. He was still shaking as he stood, sliding a pair of pants on -fumbling with the button for a few seconds -before walking to the kitchen part of his laundry mat apartment. Sighing as he opened one of the cupboards, and popped out the false back, he was greeted by the welcoming sight of his many pills.

There was his Celexa for his bipolar disorder, Axert for his migraines, Ativin for his panic attacks, Concerta for his ADD, Percocet for the pain in his shoulder from when he'd been thrown from his bike two years ago, and Halcion for his insomnia. All of them were prescribed to him -granted, by different doctors, or at least mostly- but he'd done enough research to know that half of them did the same thing. Ativin was used for both panic attacks, and insomnia. Celexa and Concerta often worked against each other. Axert and Percocet would do the exact same thing.

But he was hooked; had been hooked since the first time Donny Reed, the local drug dealer in high school, had started feeding them to Shawn like candy. The Percs had been the first, but the Concerta hadn't been long following. As soon as he was out on his own, Shawn had found doctors to keep feeding his addiction. Not just physical addiction; Shawn was pretty damn sure he wouldn't make it through a few _hours _without going completely off the charts insane if he didn't have his medications. They kept him in just enough of a haze so he wasn't constantly assailed by memories, but he could still focus, still do his job.

Which was something he had to do. He was working a string of car thefts, and he needed to be alert. He couldn't let his nightmares slow him down. So he grabbed two of the Concerta, one of the Celexa, and a Percocet for good measure. Hopefully it'd be enough to keep him going through the day, until he could crawl back in bed tomorrow night, helped into sleep by two or three of the Halcion, and one or two of the Ativin, which would hopefully be enough to knock him out, and keep the nightmares at bay.

He knew he was slowly falling apart. In the past year, he'd more than tripled his dosages on most of the medications. He knew if he kept going the way he was, it wouldn't take more than another year or two before he O.D.'d.

Yet he threw back the pills anyways, washing them down with a shot of his good friend the Captain, before plopping down in the chair to wait for the medication to kick in.

Within twenty minutes, he felt the sudden surge of energy he'd been waiting for, quickly followed by the twitching jitters. He glanced at the clock as he shot out of his chair.

2:59.

He practically ran out the door, barely taking time to throw his jacket on, feeling the euphoric high settling down on him, accelerating his thought process as he jumped on his motorcycle.

A few minutes later, he was tearing down the 101, doing ninety five miles an hour as he raced towards the last three spots the cars had been seen. He knew he hadn't missed anything -he never had, never missed anything, never forgot anything- but he didn't have much else to go on at the moment. And he needed to move, needed to do something. Anything.

If he sat in his damn apartment another minute, he'd kill himself.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update, and a really short update at that... I've been trying to figure out exactly where I want to go with this. If anyone has any ideas, feel free to let me know.

* * *

As he got to the first of the three spots where the cars had last been stolen, he parked his bike, and stared at the scene.

Night club. Seedy section of town. A place Shawn would usually be on a weekend. His eyes went to where the cameras were 'hidden' (he smirked, nothing stayed hidden too long with him around), and the place where the stolen Lexus had been.

The whole case didn't make any sense. Shawn almost thought the kid in the sixty thousand dollar car had arranged to have it stolen, but that didn't make sense. The kid had four other cars, and daddy was nonchalant about the whole thing. And, in the three of the other fifteen locations, the cars stolen had been worth less than ten grand.

So. Four over fifty thousand, three under ten thousand, one over a hundred thousand, and the other seven between twenty and forty grand. They were pretty sure it wasn't a chop shop; none of the serials had shown up on the radar yet. But not joy riding, since none of the cars had been seen since they were stolen.

Not joyriding, not chop shop... what the hell did that leave? Why take a brand new Lamborgini, along with a '97 Jeep Cherokee? A new Lexus convertible with a 2001 Dodge Nian?

Different makes, different models... Only two of the owners of missing vehicles were having trouble making payments, so it wasn't insurance fraud... Different parts of towns... Three stolen at restuarants, two at clubs, four at grocery stores, two at theaters, and four at various parking lots were the owners worked.

Shawn knuckled his forehead. He was missing something! But what?

_Think, moron! What're you missing? _Whispered the little voice in the back of his head, the one that sounded suspiciously just like his father.

_I don't know! Nothing! I've seen everything!_

_Obviously not. You're missing something. Concentrate. What do they all have in common?_

_Nothing! They're all different! Different races, different incomes, different parts of town, different vehicles... They've got nothing in common!_

_Yeah, they do. They all have one thing in common. You're just missing it._

Shawn knuckled his head harder, before shaking it. _Just go away_, he thought angrily, blocking out everything but the crime scene. _Think, think, think! What am I missing?_

"Shawn?"

Shawn spun quickly, and plastered a smile on his face. It was easy now, after so many years of practice. He didn't even have to think about it anymore. The stupid, class-clown grin just appeared of it's own volition now. "Juliette! What're you doing here?" He mock sighed. "Are you on a date?"

She returned his smile with one of her 'I know you're guilty of something' smiles. "No, I'm here on a stakeout. We've got no leads on this case, so we're watching all the old theft sites, see if someone comes back. What're you doing here?"

"Trying to get a psychic reading. But so far, no luck. Why do they have you on stakeouts? All the cars have been stolen from different areas... I doubt they're gonna change patterns now." _What the hell did they all have in common? There had to be something!_

"Shawn, are you ok? You're... twitching," Jules said, wrinkling her nose. "And you seem a little on edge."

Shawn forced his grin to get bigger. "On edge? Me? Never. Well, maybe. On the edge of... well, a lot of things... The edge of my seat, waiting for the new episode of Bones to come out. On edge of insanity, after waiting for Gus to finally grow some hair... On edge wating for you to finally admit your undying love for me..."

Juliette laughed. "Alright, smart ass. Just be careful, alright?"


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, sorry updates are taking so long on this one... But this is my least popular story so far, so... Eh...

* * *

Karen Vick, police chief of Santa Barbara, glanced at the papers on her desk, before looking back up at her team.

"Alright, does anybody have anything new to share?" She asked, her voice disheartened. She already knew the answers she would get. The shrugs, the glances around the room, the nervous shifting from foot to foot would be all. Maybe some smart ass comments from Spencer, but no new leads. The case was long gone cold, and nowhere near getting warmer, even in the balmy Santa Barbara summer.

"Mr. Spencer? Anything from the Psychic Realm?" Karen asked, trying to put a teasing note into her voice, to hide just how desperate she was for _any_ sort of leads.

"No."

The room's other occupants –Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara, as well as Chief Vick- all stared at Spencer in stunned silence, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"What are you guys looking at?" Spencer asked irritably, not meeting anyone's gaze, but rather glaring at his own feet.

" 'No'? Just like that? No teasing, no monkey-jerking around, no epileptic seizures, or sneezing on my shoes?" Lassiter asked suspiciously.

Spencer glared at him. "No."

"No 'visions' from another dimension? No birdies telling you who did it? I heard you spent some time at the club where the first car was stolen; the rats didn't give you a description of the suspects? Or maybe –"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Spencer's sudden outburst took everyone by surprise, as did the fact that he stormed out of the room immediately following it.

Vick glanced at O'Hara, and nodded, silently answering the younger woman's unspoken request. O'Hara ran from the room, while Lassiter looked around in shock.

"What'd I say?"

Vick sighed.

* * *

"Shawn?" Juliette called quietly, entering the men's bathroom slowly. "I know you're in here."

"Go away."

She sighed as she seen him sitting against the wall, elbows on his knees, face cradled in his hands.

"Shawn…" She started slowly, as she knelt down next to him.

"No, Juliette. I'm not in the mood today, and I can't pretend to be, so please… just go away."

"Shawn, you don't have to pretend anything for me. We're all just really worried about you. If you're… you're having some sort of problem, just tell us, so we can help. You don't have to 'pretend to be' anything. You're fine just the way you are," She said softly, laying her hand on his shoulder.

He pulled away from her sharply, almost as if she had burned him, before letting out a bitter laugh. "Oh yeah, I'm just perfect. Half the time, I can't even think straight anymore, and when I can, it just keeps flashing back, like a movie in my head, and I can't stop it," He said, hitting himself in the head with his fists, "and I think it's gonna kill me, but it just won't _stop_, it's like –"

"Shawn, stop," Juliette said gently, pulling his fists away from his head, and holding them in a firm grip. "Listen to me, Shawn, whatever's going on, we're going to help you. I'm going to help you. You know Gus and I will be there for you. But you can't keep going like this, you're… Shawn, you're a wreck. You look like you haven't slept in weeks. Why don't you let me take you back to your apartment? Take the day off. The chief won't mind."

"I can't… I can't, I have to figure this case out… There's something I'm missing, Jules, and it's right _there_, and I know I should see it –I _know_ I should –but I can't, it's like it's just out of the corner of my eye, and it's obvious, but I just can't figure it –"

"Shawn, stop," Juliette repeated, her voice firm. "Quit doing this to yourself. It's gonna be okay. We'll figure this one out, just like we always do. But you're no good to anyone like this, you understand? At this point, you're a liability to the investigation, instead of an asset. I'm gonna take you back to your apartment, and you're going to sleep for a while, alright?"

Shawn shook his head, standing up, and glancing at her for the first time. "I can't, Jules. Can't sleep. Can't focus… Can't sleep, I gotta stay awake. Won't sleep anyways, even if I could, but I can't… I can't sleep, so I might as well help out here. I have to figure out what they all have in –"

"No, you don't, Shawn. Listen to me… Shawn! Hey, look at me!" When she was sure she had his attention, she continued. "When was the last time you slept? Really slept? Like a full night, seven hours worth of sleep slept?"

Shawn thought for a moment, before shaking his head. "A long time. I don't know. But it doesn't matter, Jules, we have to figure this case out!"

"No. No, Shawn, this has gone far enough. I'm taking you home. Now. I don't know why we didn't do anything sooner, but I'm taking you home, and I'm calling Gus and your father."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Next chapter... Sorry it took so long (even though it was way quicker than the last update). I had more readers for this than I thought originally, so... Yeah, I'm gonna try and be more diligent in postings for this story. :D

Warnings for some language.

* * *

_"No. No, Shawn, this has gone far enough. I'm taking you home. Now. I don't know why we didn't do anything sooner, but I'm taking you home, and I'm calling Gus and your father."_

Shawn rolled his eyes, setting his feet in as Juliette attempted to pull him out of the bathroom.

"I'm not going, Juliette. Especially not if your idea of helping me is involving my dad. Henry couldn't see the obvious if it beat him over the head with a baseball bat. Could see a dust speck out of place on the couch, but something right in front of his face? Hell, he didn't even know my mom was leaving until he looked around and wondered where dinner was when he got home from his shift…"

"Shawn, are you high?" Jules asked, a sudden clarity settling over her.

The panicked look in Shawn's eyes confirmed her suspicions, although he denied it vehemently.

"What? Of course not! You know me better than that, Jules. Be high on life, not drugs, and all that," He said quickly, waving his hand dismissively. "I can't believe you'd even ask me that!"

Jules shook her head. "It all makes sense, Shawn. Your pupils are dilated the size of pinpoints, you're talking a million miles an hour, you're suffering from mood swings, the twitching last night, the insomnia… Dammit, Shawn, why?"

Shawn hung his head in defeat, shoulders slumped. "Just take me home, Jules. Please," He said quietly.

Jules hesitated a moment, before nodding. "Alright. But I'm calling Gus, and having him meet us there."

Shawn laughed bitterly. "Oh, God, it's gonna be an intervention, isn't it?" He shook his head sadly, before walking out of the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, Jules had told Chief Vick and Carlton that she was taking the rest of the day, and possibly the next day off, called Gus and told him to meet her and Shawn at Shawn's apartment, and herded Shawn out to her car.

* * *

_Can't think, I gotta stay focused. Can't let myself drift… Can't let Jules know, already in deep shit…_ Shawn thought, desperately trying to keep his mind from running off. _Following the rabbit hole, what a screwed up story… based of an acid trip of some weirdo drug addict, one of the most popular stories ev-_

_Focus!_

"Shawn… do you wanna tell me what's going on?" Jules asked quietly, intruding in Shawn's thoughts.

"I… I don't know, Jules," Shawn said, shaking his head. "I don't know. Just… Take me home, okay?"

Juliet nodded slowly. "Okay. Gus said he'd meet us there. I just… We gotta get this taken care of, Shawn. Otherwise, we're going to have to tell the Chief. You're a liability to the department right now, and even worse… I could technically arrest you for being hopped up on drugs."

Shawn scoffed, as he curled up in the seat. "I'm not 'hopped up' on drugs. I'm on medications prescribed to me by my doctors."

"Then obviously we're gonna have to talk to your doctor and get your dosage changed."

Shawn shook his head. "You don't get it, Jules; and you're never gonna get it. Without my meds, I can't even get through an hour, much less a day. I need my pills," Shawn said simply, gazing out the window.

"Shawn, you're not yourself. You haven't been for a while now. You need help. This isn't you."

Shawn wasn't sure if it was her words, or her tone that set him off. But whichever it was, it set his teeth on edge, as he snapped, "You don't know the real me. You don't know anything about me, and anything you think you know is a lie that I came up with to hide the tru –"

He cut off abruptly, snapping his jaw shut so quick, he thought he had cracked his teeth. God, he had to get a grip. He was gonna just blab everything if he didn't pay attention. He had to focus.

"To hide what, Shawn? The truth? What truth? What are you hiding from?" At Shawn's refusal to meet her eyes, Jules felt like crying, but she held them back. "What's going on inside that head, Shawn? Relationship problems, money problems, friend problems… work problems? Is that it? Are we pushing you too hard? Vick can give you some time off if you need it, Shawn, if that's the problem. You've cleared more cases this year than most of our detectives combined; you've been working really hard. I'm sure we can –"

"It's not work," Shawn cut her off dully. "Just… Just let it go, alright? I'll take a few days off, and I'll be good as new, alright?"

"No, it's not alright! And a few days off isn't gonna fix your drug problem!" Jules said desperately.

"I don't have a fucking problem!" Shawn yelled. "Stop the fucking car, and let me the fuck out!"

"Shawn –"

"Stop the fucking car, or so help me, I'll jump from here!"

Juliette quickly pulled over to the side of the road, tears streaming down her face freely now, as Shawn practically threw himself out of the car, and slammed the door shut. He didn't look at her as he stormed off down the street, shoulder checking people who were in his way.

"Shawn, please!"


	7. NOTICE

Hey, everyone… bad news. Life has been hectic lately, and with my son's birthday, my birthday, my husband's birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas all coming up, not gonna any less hectic any time too soon. Plus, I've had some serious writer's block lately anyways… I've tried writing, but everything just comes out crappy, and stiff.

So. After much consideration, and thought, I've decided to take a hiatus. No less than two months, no more than four. I'm sorry to all of my readers and reviewers, and I didn't come to this decision easily. I've struggled with it for quite a while, while at the same time attempting to write, and I've decided that you guys deserve my best, not some crappy, sloppily written, stiff sounding piece of junk I threw up.

I apologize again, but I'm going to make an attempt to write, and finish at least a few stories in that time frame. Hopefully erasing the pressure to post will ease up on the writer's block, and I'll be back to my eerily depressing, torture/angst goodness soon.

I understand if many of you quit reading my stories, or decide not wait for me to come back. I completely understand that, and in all honesty, I would probably do the same thing. But to those of you who decide to wait, I appreciate it, and I promise I won't disappoint any more than I already have.

Thank you,

letmefallasleep


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Ok, so yeah, I couldn't make it exactly two months, but I figure, you guys won't complain too much, right? Lol. But I tried to make this chapter a little longer than usual, not much, but it's a bit longer. Still contemplating where exactly I'm going with this one, but if I go in the direction I think I'm going in, won't be more than another three or four chapters at most. Enjoy! : )

* * *

"Shawn! Please!" Jules yelled, chasing after Shawn down the street.

"Jesus, what the hell do you want from me?" Shawn demanded, spinning angrily. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"I wanna help you, Shawn! I care about you; hell, we all care about you! Whatever's going on, I wanna help you find a better way of coping with it!"

Shawn scoffed, as he turned and started walking again. Jules followed, unsure of what else to do, as Shawn lead them down an alley.

"Help me? There's no help for me, Jules. You don't understand. I just… I need my pills. I need them, Jules. I can't make it without 'em. I can't think without 'em, I can't focus… I can't deal with it. Without the pills, it just keeps replaying, over and over and over and over… and it's like I'm there again, and it just won't stop… God, why won't it fucking stop?" He screamed, smashing his fist into the brick wall of the building they were next to. "I just want it to fuckin' stop! Stop, stop, stop! Get out of my head!"

"Shawn! Shawn, stop it!" Jules begged as he kept punching the wall. "Please, Shawn, stop!"

As soon as he bashed his head off the wall, causing himself to bleed, Jules reacted. It was instinct; something any good cop would do when faced with a person who was potentially suicidal, or attempting to harm themselves. She grabbed him, and forced him to the ground, putting her knee in his back.

"Stop it! Get the fuck off me!" Shawn screamed, his voice panicked. "Get off me! Please!"

"Shawn, you need to calm down," Jules managed to say, her voice thick, tears running down her face in a steady stream. "You need to relax."

"Don't tell me to relax! You can't do this! Please! Get off of me! Get the fuck off of me, you fucking pervert! Please! Stop! Please… Don't, please don't… Just let me go, please," He pleaded, alternating between fighting violently, and attempting to curl into a ball. "Please, please, please… Not again… God, not again, it can't happen again, don't let it happen again… No, no, no, no… Please… Please, God, please… Make it stop… Stop it! Stop! Please," He moaned quietly, going still underneath her.

Jules forced herself to ignore him, as she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.

* * *

Henry Spencer was just sitting down to lunch when his phone rang. Grumbling to himself, he picked it up with a curt, "Hello."

"Mr. Spencer? It's Juliet O'Hara."

"Yes, Ms. O'Hara, what can I do for you?" He frowned into the phone. "What the hell is goin' on?" He asked, hearing strange noises in the background.

"Mr. Spencer, I need you to meet me in the alley between Lirong's Chinese Buffet, and Herkimer's Florist. As soon as possible."

"Juliet, is everything okay? What's goin' on?"

"There's a problem with Shawn. I need you here five minutes ago."

"I can be there in ten."

* * *

Henry was expecting an accident. Maybe a mugging. He wasn't prepared to see O'Hara holding Shawn down on the ground.

"O'Hara? What the hell is goi –" He stopped abruptly when he seen both of their tear stained faces, O'Hara struggling to hold down a struggling Shawn.

"Mr. Spencer, I… I need you to help me get him into one of our vehicles," O'Hara said thickly, clearly struggling to keep herself together.

Henry waved her off, and knelt next to Shawn.

He looked terrible. Panicked. There was absolutely no recognition in his eyes.

"Shawn… Shawn, it's me. It's dad, sport. Shawn, you've gotta calm down, okay?"

"Get him off me! Please, get him off me!"

Henry glanced at O'Hara, who gave him an 'I-Don't-Know' look, before turning his attention back to Shawn.

"Shawn, she'll get off you as soon as you calm down, alright? I'm right here, I'll make sure you're okay, alright? That sound good, sport?"

Slowly, realization seemed to dawn on Shawn, as his eyes slowly focused on his father, and his struggling stopped.

"Dad?" He whispered.

Henry waved O'Hara off of Shawn, and pulled Shawn onto his lap. Absently, he noticed the huge gash on the left side of Shawn's head, and ripped a piece of his shirt sleeve off with his teeth, then carefully set it on the bleeding wound.

"Hey, sport. How ya doin'?"

Shawn smiled a little, his eyes opening and closing at random. "Doin' great, dad…"

"Hey, we're gonna get you home, 'kay, sport? You just gotta stay awake for a little while."

"I'm tired, dad."

"I know you are, kiddo, but it won't take us very long to get home, okay?"

"It won't stop, dad," Shawn muttered, his eyes going distant again. "It's worse than a dream, 'cause I know I'm awake, but it just won't stop… It's like I'm there again, and it's all happening again, and I can't make it stop, dad. I just want it to stop. God, just make it stop…"

Henry held him closer, as Shawn's eyes slowly closed. "It's gonna be okay, kiddo. We're gonna figure this out, okay? Everything's gonna be just fine…"


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Ok, so here's the next chapter. More than a thousand words! I'm very proud of myself, this is by far the longest chapter I've posted on this story. Ahem, anyways... Quick note: Henry isn't just being an asshole here, I'll get more into the family dynamics later. So just go with it for now, and don't hate on him too much. : )

* * *

Shawn had heard that people regaining consciousness was just like waking up. And if by 'waking up' they meant 'splitting headache, pain everywhere, dizziness, nausea', yeah, they were right.

He groaned as he rolled over to try and hide from the light that seemed to be piercing his brain, dimly realizing that he was in his own bed again.

"Mornin' sunshine."

Shawn died a little inside. Of all people… "Jesus, dad… What the hell are you doin' here?" He asked dejectedly, throwing his arm up over his face.

"Oh, just having a jolly old time here, Shawn. I love getting calls from your co-workers telling me that you've gone looney tunes, and they need me there. And if that's not enough to make my day, it just makes it so much more special when I get there, and find out that they're right, with you needing to be restrained, and babbling like a madman."

"Dad –"

"Oh, no, Shawn; I'm not finished. 'Cause see, my perfect, special day is just all brought to a pinnacle of wonder when –after dragging your sorry ass home, and getting you in bed –I go looking for something to eat, and find nothing but alcohol. Not a lick of food in this whole house, but bottles on top of bottles of booze. But wait, Shawn. 'Cause there's more."

"Dad –"

"I'm not fucking finished!"

Shawn froze, halfway in the act of sitting up, to glance at his father. Henry didn't make it a habit of swearing, or even raising his voice, so when he did, Shawn had learned to listen.

"And then, Shawn… I get in the cupboard, to see if I can at least find a glass to drink some water out of. And that's when I see these."

Shawn didn't look at the grocery bag full of pills sitting on the floor next to his father. He only looked up long enough to see the tears in his father's eyes, before gluing his gaze to the floor again, unable to stand the pained and hurt look in the older man's face.

"Shawn… Jesus, Shawn, I don't even know where to start," The older man finished slowly. "I don't even know what to say."

Shawn shook his head, as he slid to the edge of the bed. "Then don't say anything, dad. Just… Go home, alright?"

There was a moment of incredulous silence, before the indignant sound of Henry's voice cut through Shawn's spinning head. "_Go home_? Just go home and forget my son has a drug problem? Or a drinking problem? Go home and let you ruin your life some more? Jesus, Shawn, you've done a lot of things over the years that really made me pissed, but this… Christ Almighty, Shawn, are you that stupid? You work for the fucking _police department_! How the hell did you think you were gonna get away with this? You're lucky that lady cop likes you, or you'd be sitting in a damn cell right now. Jesus, kid, are you _seriously_ that retarded?"

"Apparently, dad," Shawn spat, standing up angrily, and whirling around till he was face to face with his father. "Good ol' Shawn, the resident Spencer fuck-up."

"Don't you get lippy with me, kid. First you try passing yourself off as a psychic –and don't even get me _started_ on what a serious disappointment that was –but you had to try and top it by becoming a junkie?"

"Jesus Christ, dad! Is that all you ever fucking worry about? How I make you look? Have you ever once –just fucking _once_ –ever been worried about me? Not how I make you look, but just me. Huh?" Shawn demanded, pushing his father into the wall.

Henry shoved back, just hard enough to make Shawn back away. "You don't wanna do this, kid," He warned quietly. "Just calm down."

"Fuck you, I don't! C'mon, 'dad', answer the fucking question! Have you ever once been concerned about me?"

"Don't be an idiot, Shawn, of course I worry about you! Jesus, how do you think I felt when I got a phone call saying you were in trouble? I thought my heart was gonna explode. Hell, I'm surprised I made it to this age without a heart attack from worry about you."

"Don't you fucking lie to me!" Shawn screamed. "You never once cared!"

Henry rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in an attempt to keep the upper hand by not showing fear in the face of his son's angry tirade. "Yeah, sure. Blame all your life problems on me, kid. It's my fault you became an alcoholic junkie. My fault you decided to pass yourself off a psychic, and you can't handle the work load. Shawn's life is fucked up again, it must be Henry's fault."

"Shut up! Shut up!" Shawn screamed, rushing his father.

Henry had been expecting it; hell, that was part of the reason he'd agreed to babysit Shawn, and had sent O'Hara home when Shawn started coming around. Henry'd seen enough people who'd gone to long without their fix.

But he was surprised at Shawn's strength, given that he'd had a nasty knock to the head. It was actually a bit of a struggle to get Shawn in a full Nelson hold, pinning him to the ground.

"Get off me! Get off me, you crazy bastard! Get the fuck off me!"

"Not until you calm down," Henry grunted, straining with the effort of keeping the struggling man still.

"Fuck you! Get off me!"

"Shawn, just relax, and calm down! As soon as you calm down, this will all be over."

Henry had no idea what he'd said to make his son wig out. But whatever it was, Shawn's panic was almost enough to throw the older man off, and Henry managed to keep the upper hand by the skin of his teeth.

"Get off me! Get off me, you fucking pervert! Get the fuck off me!"

"Shawn, just calm down. Everything's gonna be alright," Henry said calmly, trying to keep his voice level as he struggled to keep Shawn from throwing him off.

"Please! Get off of me! I won't say anything! Just get off me, please!" Shawn screamed, his voice frantic as he continued kick and lash out.

"You've gotta relax, Shawn. You've gotta calm down. Otherwise you're gonna hurt yourself." By that point, Henry was struggling to make sense of his son's words, everything about them seeming out of place, and ominous.

"No! No! Dad! Dad! Dad, help me!" Shawn cried desperately. "Dad, please! Help me! Don't let him hurt me again! Dad!"

"Shawn! Shawn, I'm right here! Nobody's gonna hurt you again. You need to calm down, alright?" Henry said, his own voice growing louder in his panic. He had no idea what the hell was going on, and he was starting to get more and more worried at what Shawn was saying.

"Dad, please… Please dad, you gotta help me," Shawn whispered, seemingly staring off into the kitchen, but his eyes were unfocused as he slowly stilled.

Henry cautiously eased up, part of him half expecting some sort of trick, and for Shawn to bolt out of the room. But his son didn't move, other than to pull himself into a tight little ball.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Ok guys, sorry for the long hiatus, but I just... Ugh, I'd reached a point with all of my stories where I was making myself depressed lol. So I wrote a romance story for a bit, just to pull myself out of the gutter. But, I am back now, for a while at any rate. Still working on the other stories, got half chapters finished for most. Thanks for your patience. : )

* * *

When Shawn awoke, the first thing he noticed was that he had somehow ended up back in bed. But it wasn't his bed.

"Wanna stay with us for a while this time, Shawn?"

Shawn didn't even have to ask how his father knew he was awake. "Jesus, dad, are you just _out_ to kill me?"

"Nah. You seem to be doing a fine job of that all on your own, son."

"Christ, dad, I can't handle this right now, alright? Just back off."

"Your mother's on her way down."

Shawn's eyes flew open, and he was halfway out of bed before he realized what he was doing. "Are you serious? Dammit, dad! Why the hell did you call her?" He demanded, absently noticing he was in his old room at Henry's house.

"Because I think she needs to be here. Shawn, what the hell happened?"

Shawn paused with his jeans half on. "What happened when?"

"Whatever had you begging for me to help you two hours ago. To keep 'him' from hurting you again. Care to elaborate?"

* * *

Henry knew he'd hit a nerve when Shawn's face went stony. "No. Now butt outta my life," He said angrily, throwing his shirt over his head.

"You're not leaving here, Shawn."

"Oh yeah, and how you gonna stop me, huh?"

"Juliet and Gus are downstairs. Maybe you'd like me to go and tell them what I think you were talking about, how's that sound, Shawn?"

Shawn froze halfway to the door. "You don't know shit, Dad. You never fucking did," Shawn said bitterly.

"Shawn, if you tell me, I can help you," Henry said softly. "I'm not the bad guy here. I just wanna help you."

"Maybe you should have tried that fourteen years ago. 'Cause it's too fucking late now," Shawn spat, moving towards the door again. "You can tell them anything you want." He paused, and turned around, giving Henry a cold smile. "But I don't think you will. Little hard to explain, isn't it? Just imagine how _I_ felt."

Henry managed to hold himself together until he heard Shawn stomping down the stairs. Then he fell apart.

It was true. Shawn had as much as admitted it; probably as much as he ever _would_ admit it.

Henry had thought something was wrong, way back when Shawn was in elementary school. He'd argued with Maddy for weeks, telling her something was wrong.

But she'd insisted it was just hormones. Shawn hitting puberty. She'd said he'd grow out of it.

And, seemingly, he had. After about a year and a half, Shawn had been back to his old self with a vengeance. So Henry had let it go, and put his nagging little doubts to rest.

_What kind of a father was he?_

With that thought, he dried his tears, and pulled himself up out of the chair, slowly –feeling the weight of his years like a ton of bricks –made his way downstairs.

Juliet and Gus looked up at him from the table.

"He stormed out of here, Henry," Gus said apologetically. "We couldn't stop him."

"That's… That's fine, Gus. Why… Why don't you see if you can find him and talk to him?" Henry asked slowly, glancing at him sideways.

"Um… Alright. Keep me updated?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go on." Henry waited until he was gone, before turning to look at Juliet, who was staring at him suspiciously.

"What's going on, Mr. Spencer?"

"I… I need a favor, O'Hara."

"Alright. What?"

Henry moved towards the living room, motioning for the younger woman to follow him. "I need you to run down some names for me," He explained as he pulled Shawn's old yearbooks off the bookshelf.

"Alright. Whose?"

"Shawn's old teachers. From… fourth grade to sixth grade to start with. See what you can turn up. If you can't, try checking all the teachers from the elementary school."

Juliet's face went white. "Oh no. Mr. Spencer, tell me I'm not looking for…" She paused, unable to continue.

"Sexual offenders," Henry said quietly.

"Oh my God. Are… Did he tell you?"

Henry shook his head. "Not outright. But it makes sense. Now you listen to me: You don't tell anyone about this. Not until we know for sure. Understand?"

Juliet nodded, wiping her face with her hand. "Alright. It might take me a few days to run through all of 'em. Got any suspicions?"

Henry thumbed through the book, before he came to the teacher's section of Shawn's fifth grade yearbook. "Yeah. Let's uh… Let's start with the gym teachers," He said slowly, trying to think like a cop. Trying to pretend he was investigate someone else's problems. "Probably got the most opportunities. If that doesn't pan out… Exclude all the females. Statistically speaking, only three percent are women. Also… Let's try ruling out any of the teachers over fifty. Just for now. If you don't find anything, we'll try 'em all."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Okay, well, no excuses. I've been working on my Sons Of Anarchy fics, trying more... not-depressing stories. I'm slowly getting back into some of my older ones, but don't expect regular updates. Sorry. *shrugs*

* * *

Shawn rubbed at his temples, sitting on his trashed couch.

He couldn't believe Henry had taken all his pills. All his booze. Everything. It was all _fucking gone_.

A knock on the door, pulled him away from his thoughts of murdering his father. "Who is it?" He yelled angrily.

"Shawn? It's me," Came Gus's soothing voice. "I just wanted to make sure –"

"Yeah, that I'm okay. I get it. I hear that one more damn time, I'm gonna flip," Shawn spat, as Gus entered the laundry mat apartment.

"Looks like you already did," Gus said dryly, glancing around.

"Yeah, well… Henry went through all my shit."

"No, he took all your pills and booze is what he did," Gus said firmly. "Which he had every right to do. Shawn, what the hell is goin' on with you?"

Shawn scrubbed one hand over his face, head hanging wearily. "Jesus, when did you all suddenly get together and decide to have the 'Save Shawn' party, huh?"

"Shawn, we're just trying to help you," Gus stressed. "How long have we been friends?"

"Oh forever, give or take a few millennia," Shawn said absently, toeing the pile of clothes by his feet.

"And you honestly just expect me to sit back and watch you slowly self-destruct without trying to stop it? Come on, Shawn; I'm a pharmaceutical salesmen. I saw the pills you were scarfing down. Some of those are _lethal_ when mixed, even without mixing them with alcohol. Just… Damn, Shawn, why the hell are you doin' this to yourself?"

Something inside Shawn snapped. He flew off the couch, and before he knew what doing, pinned Gus to the wall.

"You wanna know, Gus? Do you really wanna fuckin' know?" Shawn hissed, ignoring his best friend's large, frightened eyes. "I take the pills so I can sleep without the nightmares. So I can throughout the day without having flashbacks. You wanna know what the nightmares are about? Wanna know what the flashbacks are? I was one of Mr. Beneviste's favorite toys, Gus!"

Gus recoiled as much as he could being pinned to the wall. But he couldn't escape Shawn's accusatory tone, or block out the words.

"You wanna hear how he used to fuck me every which way from Sunday? How he made me suck his fuckin' dick three or four times a week? How he used to fuck my ass so hard, fuckin' blood would pool on the floor? How I can remember every single fucking detail? 237 fuckin' times, Gus! That's how many times he fucked me! 237 times! That mean anything to you?"

* * *

Maddy was just pulling her heels off after a long day at work, when her cellphone rang. Groaning, she glanced at it, and groaned again. She really didn't need this. Not today. But she answered anyways.

"I've had a long day, Henry, so make it quick."

"It'sss… all your fault… Maddy," Came Henry's slurred voice.

"Jesus, Henry, have you been drinking?"

She heard him scoff. "Yeah… Yeah, I've been… I've been drinkin'. You'd be… you'll be… will be… drinkin' too… if you… when you… know."

She sighed. "What are you going on about, Henry?"

"What am… what… I'm goin' on about? Goin' on about how… how you were wrong, Maddy. You were… were so wrong."

"I know, Henry, I'm always wrong," She said as she rummaged through the fridge for something to eat. "What is it now?"

" 'Bout our boy, Maddy. Our boy… Our Shawn… In school. Fifth grade… You were wrong, Maddy. It wasn't… Wasn't hormones… Wasn't… wasn't… social problems… or… or… peer pressure, or whatever they call it… You were… were wrong, Maddy. So, so… wrong…"

She froze, halfway in the act of bending over. "Henry, what the hell are you talking about? What's going on? Is Shawn alright?"

She recognized the short, bitter laugh. She'd hear it numerous times, usually related to cases where the perp got away.

"No… No, Maddy… Our boy… He's a… an alcoholic. And, and, and a… a pill popper."

"What? Shawn?"

"Uh huh. Shawn… In school… a teacher…"

Maddy felt her heart stop. "Henry, what the hell are you talking about?" She whispered.

"He told me… Or… confirmed what I told him… Somebody… Somebody… raped him… Somebody raped my boy, Maddy. And I… I knew… knew something was… something was wrong… and you said no… Told me to… to leave it alone… It was just a… just a phase… And… I didn't… didn't help him. Didn't save him…"

"Oh, God, Henry, no. No."

"Yeah, Maddy…"

"I'm on my way down."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Alright, so my cousin has been having a Psych marathon, and we've been watching and rewatching it for the past four days. So I've been having A LOT of motivation lately. Don't know how long it'll continue, but for now, taking advantage of it.

* * *

It was eighth grade year. The last time I saw Mr. Jonathon Beneviste.

By that point, I had become numb to the whole thing. I didn't care anymore. When it started, I just went... away. Like floating out of my body. The pain was just a distant, hazy feeling, almost more of a dream.

It was the third to last day of school. Lunch period. By then, I didn't fight it. It had become a three-time weekly occurrence, and I went to the gym Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, like a man on death row. I'd walk the hallway from the cafeteria like a zombie, barely aware of what I was doing.

But that day... That Friday, I knew something was different. From the moment I stepped into the locker rooms, my normally deadened instincts were screaming at me to run. I started to turn, to try and run, when I felt his arm on my shoulder.

"Shawn. How you feelin', buddy?"

I almost cringed at the cold edge in his voice. "Fine," I mumbled, trying to pull away from his iron grip.

"You know... You're gonna be a freshman soon, Shawn. This is our last day together, buddy. You'll be going over to the high school next year, and leaving me all alone. You gonna miss me, Shawn?" At my carefully neutral, completely blank face, he chuckled. "Since it's our last day -and the last Friday of the school year -I'm having a sub come in for the day. Taking all your little friends outside, play in the woods or something. So we'll have two and a half hours. Just me and you."

I jumped when he clapped his hands loudly.

"Come on, Shawn. Back to the showers. Just like our first time. You remember our first time?"

It was eleven forty-one, and seventeen seconds when we finally arrived at the showers in the very back of the far locker rooms. It was eleven forty-one twenty-five when he shoved me across the small tiled threshold. I stumbled, barely righting myself by grabbing hold of the hot/cold switch.

After fifty-two seconds of heavy silence, he sighed impatiently.

"Come on, Shawn, you know how this works. Take off the clothes."

I shook my head slowly, and -despite the hopeless futility -I started moving along the wall, trying to put as much distance between me and him.

His face contorted in anger, and with one large step, reached where I was cowering, and hauled me up by my hair, swatting me with his large, meaty palm.

"Do we really have to go through this again, Shawn?" He hissed. "Do you really want our last time together to be like this?"

I don't know what came over me, but for the first time in two years, I fought back.

Not that it mattered. Even at thirteen, I was small for my age. Barely five foot, and about eighty pounds, seeing as how I had practically stopped eating. Mr. Beneviste was six foot two, probably two hundred pounds of muscle. It took him about a minute have me pinned to the ground.

_Fourteen small chips on the tile._

_Eighteen knobs for the nine showers._

_One lone pencil rotting in the corner._

He yanked my pants off, grunting with effort, as I kicked and clawed at him the best I could. Next went my shirt, which he just tore apart. A solid punch to my gut winded me just long enough for him to stand up, and kick me in the ribs.

While I was paralyzed from the pain coursing through me, barely able to breath, he grabbed the back he'd dropped in our scuffle.

I hiccuped in fear, tears streaming down my face, and I could feel the warmth on my leg as I pissed myself. I knew the bag meant bad things. It meant pain. Extreme, unbearable, agonizing, excruciating pain. Pain that made me wish I was dead. Pain that made me wonder if I _was_ dead.

That bag was the bag he only brought when he was in a bad mood. When he wanted to inflict serious pain. He called it his 'Toy Bag'. I liked to think of it as the bag from hell. It contained a myriad of sexual toys, from the ones that merely hurt, to the ones that seemed to rip my entire being apart.

"Please... No, no, no..." I whimpered, hating how pathetic and weak I sounded, but unable to keep the fear out of my voice, as I attempted to crawl to the other side, and escape.

"Nah, it's too late for that, Shawn," He said, his voice pleasant sounding, but with a dangerous edge as he stepped directly on my back. "You wanted to make this difficult, lets make it difficult then."

He yanked me up off the ground, and dragged me back to the shower heads, pulling my arms up, and handcuffing me around the shower head.

"Please, please, no, no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry!" I practically screamed as he held up the latest object of punishment.

It was one hour, thirty-one minutes, and forty-six minutes when he finally released my arms. My arms long ago had gone numb -the only part of my body to go numb, unfortunately – and my feet weren't much better after standing on tip toe for so long. I hit the ground hard, panting, tears streaming down my face. Other than my arms and feet, every single inch of my body was in agony. I barely was aware of him leaving, growling under his breath as he stalked off.

For the first time in my life, I lost track. I had no idea how long I laid there, blood pooling underneath me, pain shooting through my entire body. I don't know what happened. All I know is, the next thing I remember clearly is standing at the front doors to the school, at four forty-nine, waiting for the five o'clock bus. I was fully dressed, with socks and shoes, although I noticed they were double knotted, something I never did. I still hurt, but I no longer smelled blood, or urine, and when I ran my hands over my face, I realized my face was clean, although I could still feel the scratches. I never did figure out how it had happened. I didn't remember cleaning myself up... But I couldn't picture someone else just... cleaning up the mess, and sending me on my way.

As I limped my way onto the bus, I seen him standing in cafeteria windows, and he waved at me with that cold smile of his.

It was the last time I ever saw him.


	13. NOTE

Hey guys. Unfortunately, I've decided to take a short hiatus from writing for a while. I have a million other things going on right now, trying to build my chicken coop, get my garden set, finish turning the upstairs of my garage into an apartment, my two martial arts classes… You get the basic idea. I will continue to work on things in my spare time, maybe even a few new one shots or something, but I won't be posting for at least a month, maybe two, until I get some of my spring projects finished. Sorry, and I know I just took a hiatus in December, but… eh. Thanks for all your reviews, and patience with me, and I promise, I'll make it worth your wait once I start posting again.

~Ashley


End file.
